No, I don’t have pictures because MY PHONE WAS IN THE SUBWAY TRACKS.

Spencer Platt / Getty Images

The following events occurred on the evening of March 3, 2015.

6: 10 p.m.: I am standing on the downtown side of the subway platform at the 23rd and Broadway NR stop. After shuffling to the edge of the yellow bumpy safety barrier and craning my head to see whether a train is coming (alas, it isn't), I reach into my pocket for my iPhone 5S. As I pull it out, my gloved-fingers fumble and the phone tumbles from my hands.

6:11 p.m.: Shit, I hope it doesn't slide too far. Oh my god, it's sliding too far. OH MY GOD IT'S OVER THE EDGE.

6:11 p.m.: My iPhone is lying faceup to the right of the rails of the subway tracks.

6:12 p.m.: I hope no one saw that.

6:12 p.m.: That woman definitely saw that and is trying not to make eye contact with me.

6:12 p.m.: I hate everything.

6:12 p.m.: Is my phone up for an update yet?

6:12 p.m.: My phone is not up for an update until next fall.

6:12 p.m.: Would it be THAT CRAZY if I just hopped down and got it...?

6:13 p.m.: The lights of a train are visible around the bend.

6:13 p.m.: Nevermind.

6:13 p.m.: I board the downtown R train. A guy around my age (24) taps me on my shoulder. "Excuse me, did you just drop your phone in the tracks?"

6:13 p.m.: "Yep, I did!" Kill me.

6:14 p.m.: "You know they can get it for you? Just go and tell the person in the booth..."

6:14 p.m.: *brain explodes*

6:14 p.m.: "They'll do that?"

6:14 p.m.: "Yeah." Guy looks at me like I'm the most idiotic person in the world.

6:14 p.m.: I am the most idiotic person in the world.

6:14 p.m.: Guy holds the subway doors open for me so it won't move. I get off the subway.

6:15 p.m.: I hope this isn't one of those stations where the booth is on the other side and I have to walk back above ground and to a different entrance to go see the agent.

6:15 p.m.: This station is one of those stations.

6:16 p.m.: I walk back above ground and across 23rd Street, and then across Broadway, to the uptown side of the 23rd Street NR stop. The city is a slushy hellscape. I didn't wear my snow or rain boots. I wore the winter coat that has no hood. I'm 5'2" and my umbrella is dangerously close to stabbing the eyes of everyone around me.

6:16 p.m.: I hate everything.

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6:18 p.m.: "Excuse me, sir. But, uhh, I just dropped my phone into the subway tracks on the other side of the station. The downtown side. Is there any way you or someone could, uhh, get it for me?"

6:18 p.m.: "You dropped your phone in the tracks?" The agent is tall and vaguely eastern European looking. He's prematurely gray, but in the handsome way.

6:18 p.m.: "Yes." Please stop making me say it.

6:18 p.m.: "One moment."

6:19 p.m.: The agent reaches into his backpack, retrieves a small, worn black notebook, and starts flipping through pages full of scribbled numbers and notes.

6:19 p.m.: This seems promising...

6:20 p.m.: He's found a number. He grabs the black, corded telephone inside the agent booth and dials it. I try to make out what he's saying behind the bulletproof plexiglass. I fail. He nods his head a lot. He hangs up.

6:21 p.m.: "OK. The crew should be here in about 40, 45 minutes to get it."

6:21 p.m.: *brain explodes*

6:21 p.m.: "Really?"

6:21 p.m.: "Yes. Just wait here."

6:22 p.m.: "OK, I'm just going to run back to my office to make a quick call."

6:29 p.m.: I trudge back through the slush hellscape to my office, fighting for every last step.

6:37 p.m.: I don't call anyone because I have no phone and have a momentary existential crisis when I realize that I don't have anyone's number memorized anymore, even my closest friends'. I power back up my laptop and email my friend, Bridget, whom I'm scheduled to have drinks with at 7:30.

Subject: DROPPED MY PHONE IN SUBWAY TRACKS.

Body:

FML.

WAITING FOR SPECIAL CREW TO HELP ME GET IT.

IF I DON'T TEXT BY 7:45 LET'S CANCEL.

FML

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